I've a Smile on My Face
by curraheesledgehammernuwanda
Summary: Joseph Liebgott is home from the war and is eager to pick up where he left off. But his life takes him in a completely different direction when he finds out his woman is already taken.
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1

Disclaimer: Hey, y'all! This is my first Band of Brothers fanfiction and I am beyond ecstatic to finally start it. I mean no disrespect to the real Joseph Liebgott or his loved ones nor do I own Band of Brothers, although sometimes I wish I did. I am trying to make this historically accurate so the story takes place in Oakland, Ca, where Liebgott lived and not San Francisco like the show portrayed. There has been some dispute as to whether Liebgott was Jewish or Roman Catholic because his family was raised Catholic but all of the men in Easy said he was Jewish as well as his mother's maiden name being of a Jewish origin: Zimmerman. So, for the purpose of this fanfiction, I am making him Roman Catholic and we will see a little religious side to Liebgott because I really like the idea of Liebgott lighting a candle in a church and murmuring beautiful prayers. I hope you enjoy this fanfiction and comments are very welcome.

Stepping off the troopship that had carried him home, he breathed in the shadows of peace and prosperity, things he hadn't seen in nearly three years. He hoisted his sea bag onto his shoulder and began to walk away. From the ship, the military, the violence, the war. He began to walk away from the War. Many men knelt down to kiss the ground and the soil of their fathers. But not Liebgott. He was just glad to still be breathing. He glanced around to see if there was any change in the city since the day of his leave. Not much had changed, it seemed to appear as such but he knew that things had changed the minute Pearl Harbor was bombed and things were continuing to change. Always. Nothing stayed the same forever, no matter how wonderful it was. People were getting married, having babies, going to college with that GI Bill. Fuck, he thought crudely, they said the Army would give you an education. If the being in the paratroopers was considered education and I got a bloody neck and heart from joining, I don't want any part of it. He decided to try and get his old position back at Manelli's barber shop. His boss, Frank treated him like a son, with his thick black mustache and bright eyes, and so did the rest of the family. His wife, Cleo, was a plump woman about five feet tall with dark thick hair that was always pulled back into a tight bun. She wore a gold crucifix across her neck every day and wore black no matter what occasion it was. As Joe mused over the memories of the good old days, he thought of their feisty and well-endowed daughter, Lea. Her breasts must have been able to fill his hands and maybe more. He took pleasure in watching her strut around the back of the shop, helping her father and helping him, seeing the lines on her nylons stretch as she reached up to grab an extra pair of scissors. He liked the way she smiled at nothing and yet everything all at the same time. Sometimes when Frank or Cleo tried to explain something to Joe but didn't know how to say it in English, she would translate for them. He liked the sound of her voice rising and falling, excitedly and hushed. He liked her, her body, her charisma, that little freckle on the dimple of her right cheek. Was he in love with her? He must have wrestled with that question a thousand times in his head. A thousand more times in his heart. He never had really been in love with a woman. Sure, he'd screw around a bit and kissed more than a few but love? That was something he didn't know much about, a piece of the puzzle he couldn't make fit. She had only been sixteen when he left, goddamn, she was just a kid. A lot could happen in three years. More than he could have ever imagined. He found himself standing in front of Manelli's before realizing, taking a few seconds to process where he was and what he was going to do. He should have gone home first was what he should have done. Say hello to his ma and pop, his siblings if they were there. But he didn't. Joe often found himself doing things he probably should not have been doing.

"Here it fuckin' goes," he murmured under his breath as he pushed the door open to the shop.

The familiar clang of the small brass bell overhead reminded him that he was home. He looked around and was amazed. It was exactly as he had left it. Everything, down to the small crack in the wall next to the coat rack. Goddamn amazing.

"I'll be with you in just a moment," Frank said hurriedly as he snipped the ends of a man's hair.

"No worries, Mr. Manelli, I'll be here all day."

Recognizing the familiar cocky ring to Joe's voice, Frank looked up from his client and saw a smirking Joe. He gave him a toothy grin and almost cut his client's neck from excitement and shock.

"Joseph Liebgott! Joseph Liebgott, is that really you? I cannot believe this! You are back! Back from Europe! You are actually here, Joseph Liebgott! Cleo, Cleo! Lea! Come quick!" his bellowing voice summoned both of them in seconds.

Cleo and Lea screamed in delight and ran to Joe, each kissing one of his cheeks and crushing him into their embrace.

"Dio Mio! Dio Mio! Joseph, is that really you! I cannot believe this! Cannot believe this!" Cleo cried with tears flowing down her face.

Lea looked up at Joe and beamed.

"Welcome home, Joe. I mean it. We- we all missed you so much. I'm so glad- I'm so glad you're home." She stuttered as tears formed on the rims of her eyes.

He was about to wipe them away when a man came through the doorway and asked what was going on.

"Victor, this is Joseph. Joseph Liebgott. He has worked for my husband for many, many years now. He came home from the war." Cleo said excitedly proudly holding onto Joe's arm, showing him off like a son.

"Well, nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Victor-" he began to speak but Lea cut him off.

"Victor, why don't you go in the back and get that freshly brewed coffee out for Joe, I'm sure he could use a cup or two." She suggested as she pushed stray strands of hair out of her face.

"Okay, honey," he replied back with a warm grin on his face.

Cleo and Frank left to go the back room as Frank's client paid and walked out of the shop.

Joe frowned and creased his forehead in confusion. He cocked his head towards Lea and was about to ask why he had called her honey when he noticed the wedding band on her finger. Then it dawned on him. They were married. Fucking married.

"Joe, it was only a few days ago and we didn't know when you were coming back…" Lea murmured to him almost apologetically.

Joe shook it off and gave her the most genuine smile he could.

He turned to her and said in an earnest voice, "I'm happy for you, really, I am."

And he meant it.

He meant it because he realized that he had been in love with Lea Manelli this whole time and he had done nothing about it.

Translation: "Dio Mio" in Italian means "Oh my God" in English.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

Disclaimer: I do not own BoB, it's a shame though. I hope y'all enjoyed the last chapter and are coming back for more. So without further ado…

Liebgott went home that day, stared at the place where he used to dwell. He couldn't believe it. After Camp Toccoa and combat, it seemed like a heaven. He actually laughed out loud when he collapsed onto his bed and sunk into the dingy mattress. He still had the same old wrinkled sheets that had been there since he left for the paratroopers. It was odd feeling this nostalgia in his own room, in his own apartment. Three years isn't that long. And yet it changed everything. For him and the world. He wished he could just fall asleep and wake up a kid again, a kid filled with innocence and faith in humanity. Playing soccer with crumpled up newspapers and pinching girls. Passing notes in class and cursing for the first time. Reading Dick Tracy and Flash Gordon with his buddies and laughing. Goddamn laughing at anything and everything your eye could see. Jesus, what had happened? Was he really that old? Was he really that hollow? He shook his head and walked around the rest of his apartment just to make sure this wasn't a dream. Unfuckin' believable. Even his goddamned towels were still on the kitchen table, crumpled up and laying still. No wind through the window he opened, no nothing. The flowers his mother had given him before he left were in a vase by the window sill. They were shriveled up, their bright and blissful tint now sagging and gray, half disintegrated, half on the precipice of falling. The water was gone and in place was a green coat of slime heavily covering the bottom of the vase where the flower stems were. If he was correct, his ma had given him edelweiss, he couldn't remember why of all the damn flowers in the world she picked those but she did. His ma always had a little green thumb in her. His parents were from Austria and he was goin' to fucking war with the Krauts. He didn't know and he didn't care. He left his apartment and dropped by his parents' house. To his luck, they were home. A great reunion ensued with all of his siblings and his parents as they all gathered around him and prayed to the Lord their thanks and blessings on Joe and their family. And, of course, his ma had a large feast sitting out for all of her children. Schnitzel and spaetzle with kielbasa. Carrots and cabbage and potatoes. It was more food than Joe had seen in France on leave. For dessert, Joe's mother brought out his favorite: apple strudel. It tasted just like it had as a kid. He joked with her that it tasted a little burnt and she whacked him with a towel as she scolded him in German.

"Ich habe dich Lieb, Ma" he told her.

And she smiled, cradling herself in the knowledge that her son was home and there to stay for good.

As the day waned and night crept onto Joe's shoulders, he dreaded going back to his apartment, alone and without support from his comrades. This time, he really was alone. Without anybody. No one understood what had happened and what was still going on in his head. He didn't think anyone ever would. He strolled down the familiar avenues of his neighborhood and stopped to say hello to several neighbors and shopkeepers whom he hadn't seen since before the war. They all were surprised and so happy to see him. The feeling was mutual. Darkness soon swallowed the skyline as the sun fell into ignorance of the sins and crimes of the night. Sometimes Joe felt like God was dead. He was raised Catholic and knew better, but that damn war. That damn war. Jesus Christ, people fucking turned into skeletons by another human's hand. He often wondered how it happened. He knew he shouldn't. shouldn't ponder on it, shouldn't think about it, shouldn't remember it- fuck, but how does a person forget something like that, huh? How does someone go from seeing his buddies mangled and blown into ashes to waving at all the red-lipped girls as the crowned kings of the 20th century? How does someone go from being an animal to a human again? How does someone leave death's sword and take up life's shield once more? How do you do it? Joe found himself in front of the Blue Owl, the local raunchy bar of shady characters and even shadier service. Neighborhood legend had it that one of the waitresses was serving a woman who took her man, got so enraged she filled her tequila glass with cyanide. The woman then got sick, waitress took her to the restroom, had a hole already under the toilet she had dug herself, dropped her body in there, sealed the toilet to the floor, and left. Never found, never convicted, never any evidence. And that was one of the stories. Joe had raised some hell around the place in his youth but he learned to hunker down eventually. He looked up and saw the flashing blue sign of a hooting owl staring out over the rooftops of Oakland. For the first time, he noticed it seemed to be calling for something or for someone. Joe walked in and sat down in his usual spot by the bar tender and ordered a straight whiskey. He was a simple man, always had been, probably always would be. He decided he was going to get rotten, stinkin' drunk that night so he could forget about Lea, about the war, the damned SS officer. Everything, forget it all. He pretended like this was the answer even though he knew it wasn't. Liebgott could lie to anyone so easily and effortlessly, it was an art really. Well, anyone except himself.

"Welcome home, Joe," the bar tender nodded at him and Joe nodded back.

He was about to give him a tip when the bartender shook his head and said, "You boys fighting over there is more of a tip than I'll ever need."

Then he scurried away to help the next customer, not giving Joe a chance to respond.

Why did everyone have to treat him like a fuckin' hero? He wasn't. He joined up because it was the right thing to do. And that was a rare thing for Joseph Liebgott to do.

He glanced around the old place, smiling at the painting of the naked lady with the purple feathers and raised his glass to her. As he swallowed the whiskey, he saw the regular geezers sitting in the corner, playing poker with Cuban cigars sticking out of their mouths. His mouth quirked up, being reminded of Bull's stub of a cigar being chewed on, even in combat. Several men played pool and craps as well as talking amongst themselves. A few of them nodded at him and raised their glasses towards him. Jesus. Further back, he could see red curtains drawn and knew the women that were back there. He hadn't actually _known_ them like that physically but he knew them. As people, citizens, neighbors. Even acquaintances. Sally with the great gams and Florence who had twin boys and a Dalmatian. Maxine who had diabetes and Eva who had fled from Belgium before America had entered the war. He knew these women's stories and they knew his. He always gave him an extra tip even though he never asked for their services. God knew they needed the money more than he did. He took another swig of his whiskey and was about to ask for another when a man and a waitress caught his eye. the waitress was walking by holding a tray of glasses and plates, wearing her short little skirt and painted stocking lines. He reached out, squeezed her bottom, then spanked her, causing her to shriek and drop the platter, broken glass skidding everywhere. Some of the men laughed at her. Others sympathized but said nothing.

"Jesus Christ," Joe mumbled, setting his drink down.

He hadn't fought a war just to come home to see this.

He stood up and stalked over to where the man who had spanked her was.

"Is there a problem here, mister?" Joe asked as casual as his voice would allow him.

The man laughed.

"Woah, soldier boy, you gonna defend her rights just like you defended mine? Bah-what a wimp! I'm surprised your skinny ass was even accepted into the Army!"

"The paratroopers," Joe replied.

"What?" the intoxicated man slurred loudly.

Joe raised his voice, "I said the paratroopers."

"What are you gonna do? Strangle me with your parachute? Ooohh, I'm so scared." he laughed.

"You should be," Joe retorted.

The man scowled at him, stood up, and faced Joe. The guy must have been twice as heavy. Fuck, he was a paratrooper. Currahee.

Joe swung at him, knocking two of the guy's teeth out and causing a deep gash in his cheek and blood running down the corner of his mouth. The guy retaliated, punching Joe in the gut ad sent him sprawling across the floor, coughing and wheezing.

"You're on the bottom now, you little shit. Is that where you want her? On the bottom? Or do you want her to ride you like a dirty bitch would?" the man yelled, gaining the attention of the whole bar.

Joe tripped the man, then stood up on the man's back, jumping up and down while hearing the cracking his spine. He flipped him over, straddled him, and punched his face over and over and over again. The man swung at Joe and hit him in the eye and jaw, causing blood to spurt and bruises to form. The man tried to roll over but couldn't and instead punched Joe's shoulder blade. He gritted his teeth and took a shot at the guy's face again. He mangled the man's nose, probably breaking it, and beating both eyes to the point that they were swollen closed. As his finale, Joe dislocated both of his arms and punched his throat.

"Guess you wanted me to ride you instead," he seethed through his teeth before standing up.

Everyone in the bar stared at Joe, some cheering, some standing with their mouths open, others speechless. He walked over to where the waitress was and helped her pick up the broken glass, throwing it away with her in the back dump. He had gotten into fights many a time back there. A dent where his head had gotten mashed into the metal was still there.

"Thank you, sir, I- I'm glad you did that. I-Thank you." The woman said quietly, not turning to Joe in embarrassment.

"That wasn't the only fight I was ever in." he pointed out the imprint on the trash dump.

"I wouldn't be surprised."

He studied her for a second before speaking again.

"What's a nice girl like you do around here?" he asked, eyebrows raised through the blood and bruises of his battered face. She finally turned to face Joe and looked up at him.

"If you let me fix your face up, I'll tell you." She raised an eyebrow back at him.

"Fuck," he half muttered, half laughed.

"My shift's over anyways, I'll take you back to my apartment and clean you up." She almost pleaded.

What was this lady's deal? It's like she actually _cared_ about him. Now, that was a first. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before agreeing to her first aid treatment to his face.

She led him through the dark streets of darker Oakland. This was truly the place not to go. Gangs, prostitutes, robbers, murderers, criminals of all kinds lurked about in that corner of the city. It broke his heart to see a sweet girl like this one stuck and surrounded by injustice and fear. She should be in a safe place, get an education, get married. Maybe even have kids and a home she could return to without being paranoid of monsters in human flesh lurking at her doorstep.

"This is me," she pointed to a brick building with fading paint and broken windows.

"Jesus," he breathed.

"What?" she asked softly as she led him inside and up the stairs to her door.

"How do you go to sleep at night?"

She was silent for a moment as she jiggled the door with her key a few times to open it. Dust clouds puffed in their faces and she felt for the light.

"I don't."

The place was worse than he thought.

A scratched up table was used in what was considered the kitchen, although it was more like the size of an outhouse. No ice box, no stove, nothing. A single lightbulb lit the whole room, swinging by a few wires. There were two folding chairs, a pack of cards, and a small bowl of apples in the center of the table.

"Here, go sit down. I'll go get my things."

"Your things? You don't even have furniture."

"I manage."

"Jesus Christ, I may be poor but I don't live this badly," he cried, wiping blood from his lip.

"You're criticizing the person you just defended in a bar fight?" she asked snarkily, reaching high in a cabinet for something.

"Not criticizing. I'm telling the truth. We ain't in Brooklyn tenement apartments anymore."

She heaved a cloth bag over to the table and unzipped it. She took out iodine, bandages, and several other items Joe did not know. He could have chuckled over the concerned look on her face. It reminded him of Doc Roe.

"Sit back, tilt your face up to the light."

He did as she asked and winced when she dabbed at his wounds.

"These are gonna be some nasty bruises in the morning."

"I kinda figured."

"You're not a very amiable type, are you?" she squinted her eyes, getting a better look at his bruises.

"You could say that."

"Why did you fight him? I mean, why did you stand up for me?" she looked into his eyes when she said this.

Their gaze locked and her breath ceased. She never knew anyone could have such intense eyes. His hair in the ember of the light above looked highlighted in halos, it seemed he was her saint. That glorious hair, it looked so tousled and reckless, she supposed like his personality. It was a deep rich brown that engulfed the person who looked at it. His nose was straight and Greek god like. She'd bet her money that the rest of him covered with bruises and blood was just as beautiful. And the thing was, he was an actual living, breathing man. That's what she was so intrigued by. He didn't stand by in the crowd but he wasn't the leader. He didn't try to impress anyone but he didn't need to. He set out his flaws for the world to see and accepted it. Approval meant nothing to him if it wasn't his own. He did what he wanted when he wanted how he wanted and there were no other questions. He wasn't perfect. And she was so thankful for that. She wasn't either and she didn't have to try and impress him because he accepted her as she was. And that look he gave her, it was curiosity and wonder all wrapped up in sarcasm and snarkiness. She had never met anyone so alive.

" I thought you were going to tell me your story." His mouth quirked up in amusement.

She wiped the blood off of his lower lip and nodded.

"I was a nurse during the war. Not one of those ward nurses that sat on their asses filing their nails and reading magazines all day. I mean, a real nurse. My hands got bloody, men screamed in my ear and clawed at my uniform, begging me to save them, that they didn't want to die. I was on a hospital ship in the Pacific, it was horrible. You couldn't imagine the horrors." They locked eyes again.

You'd be surprised.

"I came back home here, couldn't find a decent job anywhere. I looked every place I could think of. So I landed at the Blue Owl. I get tips, not too bad. Usually, it's not as bad as it was tonight." She looked away from him as she applied more iodine to his bruises.

"Not as bad as tonight? What do you mean by that? You mean you- you TOLERATE THAT? On a DAILY BASIS?" he roared, jumping up from out of his chair.

"It's usually not as bad as-"

" I mean, Jesus, I knew there were prostitutes but for Christ's sake you're a waitress, dammit! This is unacceptable!" he shouted, kicking the chair down to the floor.

"Sit back down, sir. I'll finish cleaning you up and then you can go home." She said calmly.

After a long moment of silence with him sitting in the chair again and her cleaning him up, he said,

"My name's Joe, if you were wondering."

She gave a small smile.

"Mine's Christina. And now, you're all cleaned up. Do you know how to get back to your house from here?"

He stood up and nodded, thanking her for tending to his scratches. He had seen wounds in combat. These were cat scratches.

"Are you sure, Joe?" she asked timidly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said, taking out a cigarette and sticking it in the corner of his mouth.

She turned her back on him to put her medical supplies away and as she was doing this, he noticed her wavy frame with soft curves and full hips, dark hair piled up on the top of her head in chaos, and her short height as she had to go on her toes to put her stuff back in the cabinet. He sucked on the tip of his cigarette and licked the corner of his lips.

"Goodnight, Miss Christina, I-I-pray that all goes well." He said in a strange voice.

That didn't sound like him at all.

"You didn't come across as a praying man to me," she said.

"I'm not." he answered back.

Translation : German- Ich habe dich Lieb, Ma English: I love you, Ma


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Hello, readers! I'm happy y'all are back for more. Here comes the next chapter. And no, I do not own BoB or Joe Liebgott.

Chapter 3:

So life went on for Joseph Liebgott and for the rest of the world. He arrived at the Manelli's front door promptly at nine o'clock every day and waited for Frank or Cleo to open up the door for him so he could get situated at his barber station before customers began to flow in. He was surprised when the door opened and found Lea standing in front of him. Fuck, he thought softly. What the hell was he going to do?

"Joe," she said.

"Lea," he stated coldly, like a statistic off of a data report, not acknowledging that she was an actual person with feelings and a heart that pumped precious blood through her veins.

"Listen, Joe," she glanced back inside the shop before turning back to it and closing the door behind her.

Eyes drawn to the concrete on the sidewalk. Cracked, broken, skidding off into the road in uneven patterns that had woven into its place through the years. She looked back up and into his face, at his hard set jaw and furrowed eyebrows. And his questioning mind, always questioning every goddamn thing that seemed to breathe. He noticed things about her that she had never even known about herself.

"Joe, I need to explain-this," she waved her hand towards her upstairs apartment, unintentionally swooshing her ring against the sparkling ring right up next to his goddamn.

"There's no need to explain anything," he said coolly, trying to step past her to get into the shop.

"Don't lie to me, Joe," she held him back.

The contact of her hand on his shirt made him downright grit his teeth. He tried to shake it off and get his mind cleared. He had suffered enough during that fuckin' war; he wasn't going to allow his soul to be ripped apart again. That is if he had a soul left.

"Look, I don't care if you married Vincent. If you love him and you're happy, then that's just swell. Whatever we had, that's done and over with. We were kids with peachy dreams and no way to achieve them. We didn't think of what was going to happen. To you, to me. I didn't know there was gonna be a fuckin' war. Jesus Christ, if I had known… it would have been completely different. But I don't regret anything, even if it shreds a bit of my sanity, alright? I regret nothin'. And you always knew I never could provide for you or-father your children for God's sake! Everyone knows I'm not like that. We were always family but not _that_ kind of family. Maybe it would've worked in a different time, different place. But not in this time and this place. Not when you made your choice of being with Vincent and especially not now after the war. You wouldn't want me now. Not like this," he shook his head.

"My screws fell out somewhere between the grass blades of Normandy and the waves of the Atlantic. And I don't think I'll ever get them back." He stared at her, no, seeped into her and almost reached out to shake her shoulders, staking the claim of insanity as a finale to this horrid opera. But the opera had no singing. Only death and walking skeletons and whiskey.

"So don't blame yourself. It's not your fault. Now, go be with Vincent," he licked the corner of his lips, aching for a cigarette to dampen the pain, and nodding towards the door.

"Go be with him and regret nothing. I don't. And if I can regret nothing with the blood on my hands and the souls chaining my own down, you should be able to wake up to your beloved right next to you. And when he smiles at you, you should be able to smile back and mean it."

Joe sucked on his bottom lip as he nudged past her to go into the shop, the door creaking to a close behind him. Lea turned back and saw the sight of him running his hands through his hair before going into the back of the shop to get his stuff out ready for the work day. She bit back tears at the sight of him breaking, no, shattering. She longed for the lighthearted Joe, the one who would throw her into the ocean and let her piggyback on his back across vacant fields of fruit. She would have preferred it if he had lied to her, said everything was fine and that his heart, his soul was still there. To shake her shoulders and slam her against the wall, cradling her head, and telling her to go away. That he never wanted to see her again. But instead, he dragged himself through every day and every moment, like a nightmare never ending, as if he was still in the war, taking a bite of moonlight amongst the darkness so he could remember what light really was and what it looked like. Instead, he came to her calmly and honestly, openly admitting his faults and hid nothing from her, not caring about anything anymore, slowly decaying from the fraying and curling pages within his own vanishing biography. He was vanishing within himself. She looked into his eyes and could find no warmth, no sweetness, no life. What had that war done to him? She thought bitterly. What had that war done to him?


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Chapter 4 is here! No, I do not own HBO, Joseph Liebgott, or Band of Brothers. Now stop asking!

Chapter 4:

There were men groaning, women screaming; a bullet went by to hit a fellow paratrooper. Joe called his name, no answer. Everything crumbled around him, life breathless and love gone. Only hate and ashes remain. Gray smoke from the grenade blasts and sparks from flares. And he was running, running, running towards what he didn't know. He just knew away. Pine trees and snow rustled by the stain of blood and voices shouting at the gate of death. And it was hell, hell, hell, on earth, as close as hell could be to human flesh without searing but sometimes nipping just above the veins. His lungs took in the fire, his finger settling on the trigger, so damn ready to squeeze. He would not fail, he would not stop, he would not-

Joe felt his body slam to the ground, eyes wide open, breath ragged and muscles jolting. His nerves wound up tighter than a spring. He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head ever so slightly at himself. Fuck, he had to stop doing this. Reliving the war over and over again in a matter of seconds within his unconscious self. He found himself coated in sweat, licking his parched lips in thirst.

Joe dragged himself to the kitchen to get water, scratching at his ribs to make sure they were alright. He opened the ice box to find a small carton of eggs, a jug of milk, a piece of steak-water. He clamped his hands against the bottle, chugging it and ruffling his hair as he did. Then after shedding his shirt, wincing at the scars he earned from the war, he took a shower and went to work. Business as usual.

For the few weeks that ensued, the contact between him and Lea was beyond awkward. Cold, distant, sterile. No warmth, no intimacy, no acknowledgement. Joe asked himself how it was possible to go from being damn near lovers to not being in _any_ relationship at all? I guess you just forgive and forget, he answered himself back. Yeah, he chuckled, real funny. He recalled the conversation he had with that waitress at the Blue Owl-Christina. Normally under regular circumstances, joe would have completely forgotten a lone person's name, even more a nobody waitress at a lone bar. But she wasn't a nobody, not to Joe. If everyone was a nobody, there would be no point in memories and laughter, no point in life at all. He amused himself for a few quiet moments as he snipped at his client's head. He remembered her eyed wide in surprise at how he went to her aid, the small smile she gave him after it was done. She wasn't thanking him with a huge parade or a brass band on Main Street. She hadn't even dwelled on the subject, only worried about his own safety and "mashed up face", which he most definitely could have taken care of on his own. He was Joe Liebgott after all. He was grateful for her awareness of him; she didn't swarm around him praising him for the good he had done. Hadn't given anything in return except for a good patching up of his face which he had gotten _because_ of her. Fuck, he was getting sentimental. He was Joseph Liebgott, for Christ's sake. One of the toughest sons of bitches in all of Easy Company. He told himself to stop acting like Harry, the stupid git had lugged around his parachute ever since the Normandy drop for his precious Kitty back home. He claimed the silk would make a nice wedding dress, what with rationing and all. He shook his head at the thought as he finished with his client. The man thanked him, dropped his tip into Joe's hand, put on his hat and waved goodbye, as he walked out the door into the sinking sun. Joe sighed at the silence the old shop held. Only three barber chairs, three small mirrors, a few pictures on the wall of the Manelli family. Cleaning his station and taking another look around the old place, he turned off the lights and shut the door softly behind him as he too stepped out into the sinking sun. Lighting a cigarette as he walked, he puffed the smoke slowly out of his mouth, nicotine and peace filling his soul. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled along several back avenues and waved to the neighbors and the neighbors of course waved back. He didn't realize where his feet were taking him, soon passing parks and shops, honking cars and a man wooing a woman in the park. A few dogs barked at him, he smiled back as he turned the corner of a side road only to find himself colliding with another person.

"Jesus, watch where you're- Christina?" he voiced worriedly.

He looked into her face, all swelled and bruised up with black and blue swirling around her eyes and cheeks.

"Who did this to you?" Joe demanded, gripping her firmly.

"No one-I- Please let me go," she muttered meekly with a fluster to her tone.

She tried to squirm out of his grip but his vice only strengthened.

"I won't let you go until I know who did this to you," he gritted through his teeth yet almost shouting.

"Please, Joe," she whimpered.

"Where is that bitch? Where'd she go?" a disgusting yell came from behind them.

He saw two fat men sprinting towards them, fat jiggling and sneers on their faces.

"Please let me go, Joe," she murmured as they lunged towards her.

"No, i wouldn't dare," he spat on them.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" one of the fat men screamed in his face. Whiskey. Booze. They smelled of hell.

"I should be the one asking what the fuck _you're_ doing, you sick scum! Traumatizing a woman like this? Hasn't any one ever taught you some fuckin' manners? You goddamn devils!" he screamed at them.

They grabbed him by the neck, slamming him against the side of a building and were about to have their way with him when Christina distracted them by jumping onto the tall man's back and beating him with all her might. this gave Joe a chance to regain his composure and knock out the men who had harassed and assaulted her. In the end, the two fat bastards laid crumpled in a heap on the side of the road. Blood clotted onto their skin and they remained unconscious. Joe and her took ragged breathes, still acclimating themselves to what had just exactly happened. After a long moment of silence and looking at one another, wondering, wondering why this had happened and how Christina opened her mouth to speak.

"Joe, I-"

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said gruffly, taking her wrist softly and leading her to his apartment.

When he opened the door, he led her inside, locked the door behind them, and sat her down on his kitchen chair. He grabbed another from the living room and brought several towels over, wringing them from the water he had dipped them in. He dabbed at her bloody nose and gave her a bag of ice to put against her throbbing cheeks and jaw. As he wiped softly across her face, he took in hidden freckles and small dimples, her bright green eyes and creamy skin, features that made humans different from all others. It was a sin to mark this skin with anything other than caresses of fingertips and imprints of lips. He took her in for who she really was and smiled when he caught her eye.

"You didn't have to do this, Joe, I mean, I don't need this. I'm fine."

He stared at her with narrowed eyebrows and a hardened glare.

"Getting beat up in the middle of the fuckin' street, running away from criminals and sinners and people who want to do you harm? You call that fuckin' fine? You call living in the heart of the city slum and poverty fine? You call working for measly wages while you're being exploited because of your gender and your looks fine?"

He looked at her, really looked at her and shook his head.

"No, that's not fine. And I don't give a flying fuck who you are but _anyone_ , and I mean _anyone_ in that situation, is not fine. Not even someone like you."

That got a rise out of her.

"What do you mean someone like me? A slut, a whore, a failure? A lonesome woman trying to make it in the world?" her eyes flashed angrily.

"Because if that's what you think I am, Joe, you can just take me home right now! I don't want your pity! I don't want anything from you. I'm perfectly capable of-" she stood up, raising her face up to see his.

"Sit down, dammit," he sat her back down and wiped at her split lip.

His eyes slid down to her lips. Those lush and virgin petals. How could they ever be mangled like this?

He gazed at her lips too long and drew his eyes back up to hers, unable to read what was in them.

Anger, fear, shock?

He couldn't tell for the life of him so he just slowly shook his head.

"What?" she gazed imploringly at him.

They held eye contact for a full minute before Joe broke it, looking off into space.

"Nothing," he muttered softly.

When he was done nursing her, he shoved the dirty towels into a closet and took out blankets, sheets, and a pillow.

She peered at him through questioning eyes.

"Wha-what are you doing?" she asked, astonished her own voice shook like that.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he threw her a gaze over his shoulder as he began to set up a bed on the living room couch.

"I know what you're doing but, why?" she raised an eyebrow, beginning to stand up and starting to walk over to him.

"You're sleeping here tonight. I won't let you go back to the place you're staying now. It's too dangerous and too dirty. Besides," he threw her a lop sided grin, "I can't afford to keep saving you like I'm Clark Kent by day and Superman by night."

She gasped and folded her arms over her chest.

"How dare you insinuate that I can't take care of myself!"

"Honey, I'm not insinuating, I'm stating a fact."

She screamed at him in outrage and lunged towards him, desiring to beat him senseless.

"Whoa there, calm down, Princess, I'm your knight in shining armor. If you hurt me, who the hell is going to save you from that high tower? Certainly not those pricks out on the street," he motioned towards the closed window.

He caught her in his arms as she beat her fists against his chest in pure loathing but like Liebgott usually did, he just snorted and laughed at her futile efforts to try and let her go back home.

"You can't fight fire with fire, sweetheart, and you can't fight stubbornness with stubbornness either. So you're going to have to accept the fact that you're staying here whether you like it or not, or I'll have to lock you up in my apartment like a prisoner. Which will it be?" he rose his eyebrows.

When she finally stopped beating on his chest, she whined and stamped her foot like a little child in defeat and confessed that she would willingly stay in his apartment, even if only to try and ruin his life.

"My bedroom is right down the hall, second door to the left. You can't miss it. Pillows and sheets are there and everything. Bathroom is right next door. If you need anything give me a holler, I'm right down the hall," he grinned sardonically as he flopped onto the couch and situated himself. She seethed and gritted her teeth, mumbling and cursing all the way to his room about how much of a prick he was. True, he was slightly evil and true, he was cruel at times, and true, he was probably the most pompous, stubborn, annoying, and arrogant ass she would ever meet in his life. But did she regret the fact that he had forced her to stay in his apartment for her own protection? Deep down, no. She admitted to herself quietly in that harmonizing stage between dreams and sleep and wake that he had saved her from the world and herself yet again and that he really wasn't that bad after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Hi, y'all! I hope you are enjoying the story. Reviews are much appreciated. Liebgott may even give you a hug if you do…

Chapter 5

When Christina opened her eyes in the morning to find herself in someone else's bed, she panicked. Had she gone with a man after her shift for a few extra bucks? She flew out of the bed, her legs tangled in white blankets and sheet, her heart pounding and her eyes searching for a way to get out.

But suddenly she could smell coffee. Eggs and bacon, pancakes. Breakfast. And then she heard a low whistle and soft chuckle wafting through the air like a wind-blown kite. And she realized that she was at Joe's, in his bedroom, her head against his musky scented pillow, she was safe. After thinking this over, she sighed and straightened herself, finding herself sleeping in the clothes she had been wearing since yesterday, hair disheveled, lipstick and blush smeared onto the pillow case. She looked in the mirror and yelped. Her face was like a psychopathic mime. Lipstick upturned on the corner of her mouth, mascara clotting at the bags under her eyes, and blush caked against her cheeks, making it look like she was melting. Christina listened to the silence that ensued and found that for a moment Joe had stopped whistling. She could almost hear the smirk creeping up onto his face before he returned to whistling and loudly flipping over pancake batter in a cast iron pan.

She felt embarrassed walking into the kitchen with her face fresh as hell so she went to the bathroom first to try and wipe off some of it with soap and water. Unfortunately, the soppy concoction she had created on her face only made the makeup smear worse.

"Dammit, no cold cream," she grumbled to herself as some of the soap stung her eye.

A deep chuckle came from behind her.

"Well, good morning to you too," Joe said, his bright teeth gleaming from his cat-like grin.

"Don't look at me. I'm a mess," Christina replied through clenched teeth, trying to get past the doorway he was standing in.

"Ah, ah, ah," he wagged his finger at her, "I won't have any guests in my house act like that at the kitchen table."

She rolled her eyes and shoved him out of the way, feeling herself stumble as one of her stockings was snagged on the cabinet handle.

"Dammit!" she cursed, staggering out of the doorway.

A strong arm slipped around her, steadying her, grounding her. A warm hand gripped her side, hoisting her up from the ground almost the minute she felt her feet trip. She could feel the imprint of his fingers on her hip and almost shivered. She turned her head, licking her lips, before turning back around to meet his eye. His gaze was cloudy, unreadable, and very, very, dark. She opened her mouth to stammer a thank you when his mouth quirked up and he nodded his head towards the kitchen, walking away, hands ruffling through his hair. Her face almost flushed.

And so it continued like this for quite some time, he'd wake up before work and fix her breakfast, they'd eat together before he rushed off to the barbershop. She had quit her job on his insistence, threatening to quit for her if she didn't tell them herself. In the weeks ensuing with no job and no objective for her day, she would often find herself cleaning up Joe's apartment. At first, only the small things. Folding up a small pile of laundry, organizing the silverware, hanging up coats that had fallen to the floor. She did these small things until she was doing his laundry, cooking dinner, ironing, and dusting all over the apartment. She was afraid he would be angry with her for sifting through his things and very literally intruding in his private space, perhaps interfering with his lifestyle. But all she saw in his eyes and on his face when he returned home from work that night was utter shock and disbelief.

Joe had had a rough work day. Clients constantly buzzing in his ears about who-the-fuck-cared. Birthdays and anniversaries and baptisms that didn't mean anything to Joe. He ran his tongue between the ridge of his teeth before clamping down hard and licking his bottom lip in frustration as he tried to concentrate on getting his client's hair just the way he wanted it. But it was hard when this young man was practically screeching in his ear about his new bride and this old man cackling over his daughter's twenty-first birthday and that fellow's new car. He was tempted more than once to roll his eyes at these pieces of information. They can celebrate all they wanted, just not around him. He didn't have much to celebrate. Except the fact that he was alive. And after he got past that fact, he kept remembering. Anything, everything. A streak of blood across that man's throat, sweat dripping down his face, Hoobler's cold Luger that silenced its owner forever, Muck's crucifix. Jesus, he scoffed to himself, what the fuck am I doing here? What am I doing here cutting this old geezer's bald head for when those men, _my friends_ , for Christ's sake, went out on the line and got hit by sniper fire, got blown up by the enemy, killed by their own hands accidentally? He shook his head. It wasn't fair. How could there be a God when this could happen in the world, when this _had_ happened? He barely even noticed the clink of coins being dropped into his tip jar or the pat the old man gave him on his shoulder. He wasn't there, not really. he was still somewhere out there, beneath the blackened sky of June and the freezing snow of December. He was stuck.

To make matters worse, Lea announced that she was pregnant. The whole family was beyond happy. Everyone and half of the customers in the shop crowded around her to express their joy. Well, everyone except Joe. Joe was too in shock to move. As everyone went to hug Lea and the Manelli family, Joe stayed rooted to the spot with his brow deepening, almost creating a headache for himself. Lea glanced at him through the cluster of people around her, eyes bright and face questioning. She was desperate for his thoughts on this unexpected news. All she got was the slightest of smirks before he turned back to his work station to keep up his coat and prepared to walk out of the shop. He of course congratulated the family after the people had finished bombarding them with questions. He managed the biggest smile he could muster as he shook hands with Lea's husband and her parents. He met her eye again, smirked warmly, hugged her softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek, before he said goodbye, swiveled himself toward the door, and left.

He strolled down the lane with a grimace etched deeply in the creases of his ashen face.

Jesus Christ, married with a baby already? How many times had they actually done the dirty?

He shook his head, shoving his fists into his trouser pockets and grimaced again.

It was none of his damn business. He might have loved her at some point, even as he was stepping off of the troop ship that had carried him home. But the minute he walked into the shop and saw her ring flash before his eyes, he knew it was over. Not that he was complaining, he probably never had much of a future with her to begin with. Sure, he was like a son to the family but not that kind of son. Just a run of the mill decent guy. He wasn't worthy of marrying their precious daughter, and he knew that. He even agreed with it. Who the hell wanted to be married to a crummy barber?

Joe noticed his hands groping for a smoke and when he found none in his jacket pocket, he cursed quietly and sighed.

Why was everyone rushing past him with their lives while he was still where he always had been?

It seemed ever since the minute he got home, everything, everything had changed. Not just about him but about everything and everyone. People were getting married nearly every weekend at the church on the corner and restaurants were filled with the sound of celebration and joy and promises of a new start and a new life, wherever that life would lead. Jesus, he had just gotten back. How was everyone already back in life? How did all those other fellas come back and pick up right where they left off, in some cases, with the same girl and all? He was well aware that some of them had the devil's drink-booze- up their sleeves and under beds, but not all of them could be doing that. It was impossible for every man back to take up that age old habit while settling in with his new wife and getting used to his job promotion. With the sheer amount of men coming home and still fighting, it was damn near impossible.

As Joe thought about this, he felt his feet dragging him up the old, familiar stair steps up to his apartment door. He felt his hand reach into his pocket to take out the door key, jamming it into the hole and jangling it a bit before the door opened and he skulked in, shoulders hanging low, burdens heavy on his gaunt face. He hadn't noticed her presence in the room until she opened her mouth and almost murmured, "Hard day?"

He glanced up at her to find his whole apartment organized, spanking clean, and actually was livable in.

Joe blinked, rubbing his eyes and looked around again, making sure he was seeing things straight.

He caught her gaze before his eyes swept the rest of the apartment, arching an eyebrow.

"I hope you like it," she breathed, "I didn't want you to be angered, you know. If I had- interrupted your way of life."

He gave a short, sour laugh.

"You interrupted the way of my life the minute you came here."

Several moments of silence ensued. Christina's face turned dark red and she clenched her fists, throwing a heavy book at him as she stormed towards him.

"For your information, _Liebgott_ , you were the one that invited _me,_ not the other way around! You really are despicable! After all of this, cleaning your shitty apartment, ironing your clothes, cooking your goddamn dinner for you, you insult me because of a choice _you_ made. I've never seen such a pig in my life!" she bellowed at him, shaking a fist and jabbing a finger in his chest.

"Jesus, Christina, I didn't mean it like that-"

"I don't care how you meant it, you slimy ferret!"

His temper snapped, restraint now buried beneath his fury.

He exploded.

"If anyone should be acting like this it's me. I'm the one that has to pay for all the extra heating and water you use! I mean, what the fuck do you expect from me? You think that I have to do this for you? I ain't a charity here, as you so lovingly put it earlier as my 'shitty apartment'. I don't know why I even bothered helping you back at that bar. I just went to get a few goddamn drinks to lighten up the day and I end up bringing home a slutty barmaid-"

His words stopped midsentence as she slapped him with all her might across the cheek, making him stumble backwards towards the wall in surprise and shock.

She sneered. "Some paratrooper you are! Can't even take a slap from a goddamn girl. _You_ can have your dinner cold!" she shrieked at him, turning away and slamming the door to her bedroom.

Well, it was _his_ bedroom in the first place.

"Aw, go to hell!" he yelled through the thin living room walls.

He didn't have to help her, he could have let her rot in the center of town with crime and sin festering like a stinking wound. If anyone should be getting mad, it was him. Here he was letting a fuckin' stranger into his apartment, giving her free room and board and Jesus knows how little his salary was to begin with. He could kick her out if he really wanted to. Drop her off at the street corner and be done with her, wipe his hands clean. He wondered how the hell he got into this situation in the first place. He knew what he was doing, exactly what he was doing. He was being nice, something he had forgotten how to be during the war. But why was he? It never got him anywhere before the war and it certainly didn't help him while he was in the service. So why the fuck was he being so courteous now? Why was he actually having, what do they call them? _Feelings?_ He was a goddamn bastard by choice, why was he suddenly caring about people? He shook his head and muttered a ribbon of curse words under his breath as he stalked into the kitchen to find his cold dinner at his seat on the kitchen table. He licked his lips as he eyed a thick slab of baby back ribs, mashed potatoes, some greens, and a slice of cornbread. His mouth watered as he washed his hands and prepared himself to sit down to eat.

Surprisingly, the dinner was good. _Really good._ He never would have thought the lowly barmaid could have conjured up such a decadent cuisine. Sulkily, he washed the dishes since he knew she wouldn't, even if just to spite him. Joe's mind ran back through the fight they had had. He was still right, of course. Like he had said, he wasn't some goddamn charity. He wasn't going to let some barmaid who he just happened to save from a horrible life step all over on his. He could do anything he wanted. If he wanted to go away for a weekend without any worries, she wouldn't stop him. If he wanted to quit his job and move without worry of supporting his household, she wouldn't stop him. He was in the prime of his years, young, virile, ready to pounce. And dammit, if he wanted to bring women over to his apartment to fuck, then he'd fuck them and she wouldn't stop him.

He hadn't noticed the racket he was making with scrubbing all of the dishes and pans so when he turned around and saw Christina with her hands on her hips, the pan he was washing nearly flew out of his hand in shock.

Damn, why was she always sneaking up on him like that?

They remained silent towards one another, although Joe's head was reeling.

What was she doing? Is she still mad? She hasn't said anything-

"I'm sorry I acted out earlier. You're right. You don't have to do this for me, I know that. I was just being rude and brash like I always am." She looked down at her twiddling hands.

Joe straightened his back, standing a bit taller, and wormed his hands onto his hips.

"Which is why I'll be leaving tomorrow. I'll be going back to-"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" he roared, clawing his way over to her, a wild glint in his eye.

She shot her head back and looked at his face, flushed from anger, and the near snarl he had on his face.

"You can't-"

"Oh yes, I can! You live here now and I may not be in control over you but this is my home and I make the rules here as to what is allowed and what is not and that- leaving after slapping Joseph Liebgott and making him clean the dishes- is _not okay_."

"Damn you and your smugness! You just think-"

"I'll tell you what I think," he snarled, "I think that you are the most infuriating, annoying, obstinate, pig-headed, frustrating, and selfish woman I have ever met. And from my past, that is saying a lot. You will stay here in this apartment whether you like it or not because you have no other choice. I'm not too keen on you either but I'm not so low as to throw you out to the dogs and let them tear your flesh up!"

He hadn't realized he was holding her arms tightly until she gasped, transfixed on his words and his vice grip.

Both of them were stunned by what had come out of his mouth.

Christina felt her cheeks heat under his intense molten gaze.

Clearing her throat, she nodded and left the room to make sense of this shocking man whom she was now forced to cohabit with.

As she slipped into bed, her legs brushing against the wearing sheets and pillow soft and warm beneath her head, she began to contemplate who Joseph Liebgott really was. After about a good half hour of analyzing the man's character, Christina could only come up with three synonyms that could sufficiently describe him: bastard, pig, and the stubbornest man to ever live. But one thing was for sure: never again would she question where she'd lay her head at night as long as Joseph Liebgott was around.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I still don't own Bob if you were wondering.

And now onwards to Chapter 6!

Chapter 6

Fall came with golden leaves tumbling from every tree lined avenue and ripe apples cramming the local markets. September was ushered in by serene sunlight glistening through dusty windows and shaded car windows parked near shops and tiny restaurants, quiet but for the humming of small conversations and tunes of whispering black records, freshly minted to life from New York. Joe stared out of his kitchen window, eyes misting over the tiny figures walking with their sweethearts and wrangling kids into strollers. His mouth quirked up from the thought of seeing himself like that one day. He could just have easily been one of those bendable porcelain characters chuckling and intertwining his hand with his own doll. If he hadn't gone to war, if he had come home sooner, if he had- Ah, nuts. It was no use lingering on the past and Joe knew it. Let the dead bury the dead, he thought bitterly as he turned from the window and settled his gaze on the chipped tiles of the kitchen floor. Goddamn, had the place always looked this bad? He hadn't seemed to notice before the war- but he never noticed anything before the war and certainly not until he had a woman living with him, always dusting up the goddamn place with God knows what-

"Joe-Joe, what are you doing?"

He shot his eyes up from the ground to see Christina staring at him in concern, one hand on her hip, digging it into the side of the kitchen chairs. One of the fraying kitchen chairs- was he this poor? And what if he did want to get married some day? What if he wanted to please a woman close to his heart some day? How was he going to-oh how?

He clamped his mouth down, absent mindedly pulling out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and fingering his Zippo on the counter.

"Nothing," he muttered, crossing his eyes to see his pale fingers lighting the equally pale stick in his mouth.

"Joe-Joe, stop that."

She came over and plucked it out of his mouth, flicking into the waste bin and looking up at Joe, pin point pupils filled with worry and bewilderment from his strange and foreign ways.

"What'dja do that for?" he spat angrily, trying to feel for another cigarette in his pocket.

"You're not well, Joe. You-you look awful." Her voice on a soft note.

"I always look this way, dammit," he snarled, moving out of her way and starting for the other room.

She followed and grabbed his wrist.

"Joe, don't go. I worry about you, Joe. Ever since I met you-"

"It's none of your goddamn business!" he yelled, wrenching himself from her hold.

Goddamn women, always fussing about men and then dumping them by the side of the road. And what was Victor anyway? Probably some fucking 4F, looking for a romp in the hay…

"Joe!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, whacking him in the face with all her might, hoping to bring sense to him.

Realization flashed into his eyes and it dawned on him how rude he had been.

"Sorry," he mumbled lamely, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly.

"I don't blame you. I just-I just want to help you. You helped me when I needed it and now I-I want to return the favor."

He quirked up an eyebrow and sighed before lowering himself onto the worn couch, the springs squeaking and pillows sagging from his limp weight.

She sat down next to him, legs crossed at the ankles, skirt riding up to reveal soft shins and softer knees.

He caught a glimpse of her thigh before she rearranged the fabric and veiled herself once more.

He sighed again and sunk into his seat deeper.

"I had- a sweetheart of sorts. Before the war. I thought that if I had-had something to hold onto then I could get out, y'know? I thought if I had something to hold onto then I wouldn't lose hope. I'd have something to live for." He paused before continuing, daring a sneak up at Christina's face.

Her complexion was solemn and eyes drooped a bit, looking at the hem of her skirt through the heavy lids of her eyes.

"I don't know if I loved her and I certainly cared for her and I- I wanted only the best for her-"

"Wanted?" she interrupted, still lingering her gaze on the hem of her skirt.

"Yes, well- I still want her to be happy no matter what. Even if it turned out that she didn't end up with me. She married someone else days before my boat came in. I don't blame her, really. He can give her so much more than I ever could. And Christ, we were just kids when we were together. Didn't know anything and the things we did know don't matter now- not anymore."

He paused again, fumbling for a cigarette.

"Don't," she muttered, taking his hand in hers and resting it back on his knee.

He gazed up at her to find her staring back at him, taking in every line of his face, every freckle, every scar both outside and within. He shuddered and turned away, fiddling with a loose piece of string from the arm of the couch.

"She-she's a good kid, Lea. Good kid and I-" he faltered and stared at his hands.

"You know something, Joe?" she spoke softly after a long line of silence, buttering the air with the scent of her ethereal tongue.

"You underestimate yourself. Sure, you might not be a J.P. Morgan or Eisenhower but you're a good guy, Joe. I know that beneath it all, you are. You can try and hide it but I know you are. And that's all that counts in the end, isn't it? Being on the winning team? Hitler got the spotlight for years but he got sacked in the end, didn't he? You just gotta focus on the good stuff, Joe. Like-like your family and- and how the leaves change every season and how ripe and red the apples are at the markets. You gotta think about snow swirling during Christmas and how kids have snowball fights and hot chocolate that warms your throat up and lit fireplaces that keep you away from the cold. And the spring, Joe. When the buds blossom in all different shapes and sizes and colors. When cotton floats by past your windshield and- and pretty little girls in skirts and ribbons in their hair. And then summer comes around, Joe and the beach is sparkling with people and heavenly waves that wash right over your skin like flags on a windy ship. And the way the sand covers your toes, Joe. And how warm the sun is on your fingertips and the smile that appears on your face because you're a kid again, Joe. And you're innocent. You've never seen death, you've never seen war, you've never seen nothing but your ma and pop and all your siblings around at the dinner table laughing and it doesn't matter how much or how little food you got. All that matters is that you're happy and you're free."

Her eyes teared up around the rims and water slowly leaked down her cheeks, staining the collar of her blouse.

"Oh, Joe, please don't be bitter. It-it hurts me so much when I-" she broke off, sobbing into his shoulder, holding him tightly against her and shuddering softly underneath the feel of his strong hand clutching her back.

"I never knew you cared." He whispered against her ear.

"Oh, please, Joe. Please. Don't- don't throw away the lock to your heart. Because someone-someone along the way will want to open it. And she'll be so beautiful and kind and she'll love you with all of her heart. Please, wait for her. Please."

He wiped the tears from her rouged face, smudging her makeup onto his thumb.

She gave him a watery smile and kissed his cheek before standing up on her feet.

"Come on, Joe," she mused through her sniffles, "let's go out. I feel like going out. Let's paint the town and show everyone how grand we are. They won't see the pain. They never will. So why do we have to?"

And with that, she held out her hand and gladly, he took it.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Hey, y'all! I know I haven't been on here for a while but there's been a lot of college stuff and moving and general life that has happened. I have the rest of the fanfic ready for y'all. Enjoy! And no, I still do not own Liebgott or Band of Brothers and I in no way am trying to insult those men who fought for our country. May God bless them and their loved ones.

Chapter 7

They pooled their money together and took a cab downtown, both laughing loudly at some joke only the two of them understood. They tanked the cabbie and tipped him before Joe got out to open the door for Lea.

"Why, thank you, Joe," she giggled while taking his hand and stepping boldly out of the car. Bright lights hit their eyes and reflected off of Lea's pearly teeth. Her lips shined in the dark of the night. Joe had never really noticed her for who she was until now: just an innocent woman looking for a good time. He hooked her arm in his and together they walked down the street.

Store fronts gleamed with gold lettering and bold window displays. The old brick buildings were coated with fresh paint; the sidewalk was surprisingly clean. Though man-made lights shined brilliantly, the stars were still visible.

"Where do ya wanna go?" Joe yelled as several loud cars whizzed down the street.

"Do you like dancing?"

He grinned devilishly and in one swift motion, he grabbed her waist and flipped her over his shoulder. Lea landed on the ground soon after and was breathless. She was surprised he had enough strength to pick her up. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"What?" his brow furrowed.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times but couldn't find the words.

"You're surprised I'm that strong?"

Hypnotically, she nodded and as he started walking again, her eyes trailed down his arms. Was he really that muscular?

Lea shook her head and ran to cacth up with him, slapping him playfully on the shoulder and giggling.

"You big jerk. You were going to leave me all alone!"

There was a gleam in Joe's eyes before he burst into laughter and shook his head. She scrunched up her face and shoved him away from herself before running away from him.

"Hey!" Joe called to her.

"Catch me if you can, Liebgott!" she yelled back.

Despite himself, Joe smiled and ran after her, nearly tackling her to the ground. Lea's foot slipped close to a moving car and before she fell, he wrapped his arm around her waist and grabbed her, pressing her close to his chest. When the car drove by and silence ensued once more, she suddenly realized her breasts were squished against Joe's chest. A tingling sensation traveled down to her core and made her shiver. Lea's eyes met Joe's. He licked his lips and looked away.

"Joe-"

"Come one," he muttered, straightening her up, "let's go. There's a dance hall a few blocks from here."

He took her hand and practically dragged her down the sidewalk. Shaken up slightly, Lea pattered her feet against the ground and looked at Joe. She noticed the way his hair was placed, dark locks curling over his forehead. Dark eyes that turned stormy with conflicting emotions. Soft lips, sharp tongue; he was much taller than she. Lea had never thought about it before. His voice was gravelly and when he grew angry, his cheeks flushed and his nose flared just a bit. Just at the height of his collar, her eyes fell on a small, round pale scar on the side of his neck.

She wondered how he got it.

Blinking neon lights ended her daze. Movie theatres, music halls, and restaurants enclosed the game board- like city. Men and women held hands and looked into one another's eyes. Satin dresses with short gloves and little hats with bows showered upon ladies' heads. Lea was too poor to own one. She remembered she had finished the last of her lipstick with this outing tonight. She felt bad for herself and even more for Joe. Why did he take her in to begin with? She couldn't remember his reasoning.

"It's just down here."

They walked down another block, passing pearl necklaces and genuine silk stockings, without any holes.

The two stopped in front of the dance hall, blazing sign spelling out "The Blue Canteen" and all.

"Come on."

He grabbed her elbow and ushered her into the building.

The place was jumping with blaring brass and colorful notes sliding off the walls and shiny shoes. Curls of hair bounced with the music, skirts flew; the wooden floor was getting scuffed up from the pulse of the band. There were jitterbugs everywhere. They stepped onto the floor and were almost whisked away by the other dancers.

"Hiya, Jack!"

"Hello, sweetheart!"

"Come on over where the alligator's hot!"

Joe snickered to himself. These kids reminded him of Malarkey, a fellow man in his company who was obsessed with big band music.

"Let's dance, Joe."

And they did.

Bright lights up above and all along the walls dazed them. The squawking brass thumped against her heart, her legs tingling and quivering to the unimaginable sound of golden bliss. The brown skin of the musicians shined beneath the showering bulbs. Their ties and tails were crisp and taut. They smiled behind mouthpieces. Joe took her hand and held her waist, slowly beginning to rock back and forth in a syncopated rhythm. feet flew and hearts soared. Her blood was rushing past her ears, beneath her veins, beyond her own existence. Joe wrapped her around him and flipped her, her skirt falling over her head, her cotton underthings showing and she shrieked, shrieked in pure joy because for once in her life, she was free from inhibitions and expectations. They scuffed their heels and her hair billowed through the air as he twisted above him, once, twice, again and again until they could not anymore for their laughter became stronger than the muscles in their legs and arms. After myriads of catastrophic tunes, the room grew quiet and still as a single spotlight fell on a solitary trumpet player and his blues. She and Joe came back together, hair out of place and clothing wrinkled, and held one another until the doleful song ended.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own BOB or the men portrayed.

Chapter 8

Lea was smiling. Smiling because for the first time in forever, she was on a date. Mind you, that's not what it was called to the, but deep down they both knew what it was and what it had come to. Joe and her sat opposite each other in a tiny sea foam green booth downtown. Joe ordered them two milkshakes and two slices of pie.

"My God, Joe, are you trying to make me fat?"

He snickered.

"As if you could ever get fat."

"I have a figure to watch out for."

"Yeah, and I have a salary to watch out for."

"The milkshakes were more expensive than the coffee!"

He grinned. "I know."

She rolled her eyes to the back of her head.

"Ridiculous man. It explains exactly why you joined the Airborne. Jumping out of a moving plane." she shook her head.

"They don't call us the Screaming Eagles for nothin', sweetheart," he winked.

As they continued bantering, a waiter came over and handed them their plates of pie. He set down a shake and began to leave when Joe stopped him.

"Hey, mister, we ordered two of these."

The waiter faced them and nodded.

"Sorry, Mac, we don't gotta enough for two. Here-" he grabbed something out of his pocket- "your change."

He laid a nickel on the table and walked away.

Joe glanced down and saw two straws.

"Well, I guess we can share."

He started unwrapping them when noticing Lea's silence, he stopped and peered up at her.

He locked eyes with her.

"What?"

She shook her head and grinned lopsidedly.

"Nothin'."

He grinned back and finished opening the straws, shoving them into the heavy cream of the shake and began slurping.

Lea tisked as she leaned in to drink her side of the shake.

"And bad manners too. It'll be a tough time for you to find a wife, Joe."

He snorted and wiped the whipped cream from his upper lip with his sleeve.

"Yeah, and what if I don't wanna wife?"

At this, Lea stopped drinking and peered up at him, her lips still poised near the straw.

"Do you really mean that, Joe?"

He dropped his gaze to hers, noticing the way her plump lips almost brushed over the lipstick stained straw. He noticed the way her eyes, big and melancholy, glazed over and sparkled at him. He noticed the way her hair was curled and the elegance of her working hands and the way-

"What does it matter to you if I want a wife or not?" he bit harshly.

She knew she had hit a harsh subject with him. Lea backed away from the glass, realizing how close their noses had been to touching, and sighed.

"It doesn't, Joe, but who's gonna be there to take care of you? To cook and clean for you? To cater to your needs? Who's gonna be there to love you?"

"Goddamnit, Lea, love's too fickle for my crown of thorns."

"That's not true and you know it. You used to love someone once and ever since then you've been-" her voice rose, alarming the other customers at the diner.

He sneered horribly.

"I've been what?"

With his threatening eyes on her, she exploded.

"A big bastard!"

She shoved herself out of the booth and ran out of the diner, clanging the bell on the top as she opened and closed the door, running down the street with hot tears threatening to spill over her squinted lids, leaving a speechless Joe and two cold pieces of pie.

Lea wiped her bleary eyes with the tips of her shaking fingers. She didn't want to go home because Joe would be there, without a doubt. Why she even bothered to call it home was another matter entirely. Joe was her savior, a broken man with dreams half dreamt and foggy answers to questions never posed. He took her in under his wings and cared for her. No one had ever cared for her. It was a new and curious sensation. Her legs grew tired from the dancing and her soul festered with ridicule and untamed storms. She tiptoed up the steps of St. Michael's and entered quietly. A few people were sparsely spread out on the oak pews, some reading Bibles, others dangling crucifixes between fingertips. A priest muttered softly at the altar. The stained-glass windows told the story of the human race, the story of the infinite struggle. They told the story of death and life and all the mysteries that were held within them.

She took a candle and lit it, cradling it reverently in her hands. She muttered a "Hail, Mary" and began to pray. She found it easier to weep in the soft light of the church despite others being around to see. She stayed on her knees for a long time and only ceased praying when she heard the creak of the floorboards next to her and the low utterances of a familiar voice. Her eyes flew open to find Joe with his eyelids softly closed, tilting his head up to pray.

Lea scoffed and bristled to get up when he grabbed her wrist and softly yanked her back down next to him.

"And, forgive me, Lord, for being a complete and total asshole to Lea, who is dear to my heart and done so much for me-"

"Joe!" she hissed, "you can't just say those things in a church! You can't call yourself an asshole while talking to God like that."

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"It's okay, Lea. He agrees with me."

She pursed her lips and stood to get up but Joe grabbed her wrist again, motioning for her to sit down.

"What do you want?" she muttered.

"I want to talk to you."

"I think I've talked to you enough for one day, thank you very much."

"Please, Lea. I need to explain."

"Yes, you do." She snapped bitterly.

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face with it.

"I'm sorry, Lea, for being a bastard. I didn't mean to be harsh with you. It's just- a hard topic to talk about to me."

She turned her head away from him, looking up at the crucifix whose stare was transfixed on her.

"Lea, I-"

For once in his entire life, Joseph Liebgott was at a loss for words.

"Lea, I think you're a swell dame. And you deserve so much more than bunking with a guy like me in a shitty apartment."

She hushed him quietly and brushed a piece of hair back from his face.

'Joe, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own BOB. But maybe as a Christmas gift?

Chapter 9

They walked home silently. Through side streets and under large, curving street lamps. It started to rain and as drops of water doused their faces, Joe tucked them under awnings and while they walked, they peered in darkened shop windows.

Lea licked her lips before speaking.

"That's a pretty necklace."

He was surprised to hear her voice after the long absence of it.

"Hm?"

"That necklace," she pointed to the interior of the shop, "it's pretty."

He stared at it. She was right.

It was a short necklace strung with pearls, genuine pearls, and they gleamed in the hazy lights of the city. The two exchanged an awkward glance before Joe coughed and Lea blushed, blinking furiously and turning away.

They knew they were both too poor to afford it.

But it was pretty nonetheless.

When they got home, Joe unlocked the door and let Lea in before closing it and latching it. Despite staying under awnings as much as possible, they still got soaked to the bone and were very much chilled when they got inside. Lea's perfectly curled hair was now plastered to her face and tangled in great big knots on her head. Joe had been inwardly laughing over her horrendous hair and was already chuckling gleefully as he saw her pad down the hall to the bathroom. He heard a nasty shriek and angry feet padding back to the living room.

She was fuming.

"Joseph Thaddeus Liebgott! You are the most barbaric man to walk this earth since Julius Caesar! And you never told me how horrible I looked! And I paraded around the whole town with my hair looking like a rat's nest. You untangle it right now!" she stamped her foot with smoke coming out of her ears.

He snorted with mirth before sitting her down with her back towards him. She began to ramble again as he worked on her hair. It was odd for him to be touching a woman's hair. He was surprised to find how soft and silky it was. He found himself running his fingers through her hair long after he had gotten all the knots out. Joe could smell the faint flowery smell still lingering in her hair despite its dampness.

"Joe?" she murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

He smiled.

"Because you forced me to."

Even though her back was to him, he knew that she was giving him a disapproving look.

"Really?"

He shrugged.

"I'm not used to dealing with dames' hair."

She chuckled and turned to try and face him.

Joe's fingers accidentally brushed against her cheek. He heard her sharp intake of breath and delicately moved his fingers back to her hair.

"Sorry," he muttered.

She shook her head slightly and with a faint voice said, "It's alright."

He continued to thread his fingers through her hair, listening to her soft sighs as all the tension in her body slowly went away. After a while, her sighs ceased and Joe realized she had fallen asleep. He was too compassionate to shake her awake and tell her to go to her own bed. So he sat with her nudged against him, her head against his chest, her soft eyes closed and mouth slightly parted. Lhe smiled the tiniest bit and ran his fingers through her hair once more. He wondered how many people were lucky enough to see his beautiful woman like this. His woman. He blinked back his thought. Since when had he been his? He blinked again and looked down at her shapely body. He felt a small tug within him.

He stayed like this, the two quietly breathing in unison. Past the rounded, white moon and the twinkling stars, past the rising sun, into the brightness of the dreams of tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Anyone want to get me the rights to BoB for Christmas?... just a suggestion people

Chapter 10

It was silent when Lea woke up. She was aware of the sofa beneath her and the blanket above her, tangled between her legs. She glanced around and saw no sign of Joe. She called his name and there was no answer. She furrowed her eyebrows. It was a Saturday. But she decided to shake off her confusion and gingerly got up from the couch to begin cooking breakfast. Minutes later, the front door creaked open and Joe, with a sneaky glance, snuck into the apartment unawares. He sniffed the air and the corner of his mouth quirked up when he detected the smell of bacon. He followed the decadent scent to the kitchen. Joe stopped in the doorway and looked straight ahead. Lea had a skirt apron tied tightly around her waist and was beating eggs in a bowl. He saw the bacon frying in a pan and gloops of flour stuck in another bowl as well as spread out along the counter. Her hair was piled up high, curly wisps falling to frame the sides of her face. From where he stood, he could see the faint lines running up her stockings and the beautiful way it showcased her delicate legs. She still had her heels on and he heard her softly humming a Glenn Miller tune. As she whisked the batter in the bowl, she circled around, swaying with the tune she hummed, and almost nearly dropped the bowl when she saw Joe's amused expression. Bits of batter flew up onto her apron and face. It was then that he realized what he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life: this, his batter speckled beauty named Lea. He felt his mouth grow dry at the sight of her caught off guard and so- striking. He grinned and laughed despite himself.

"Good morning to you, too."

"You are the most ignorant man-"

He stepped forward and leaned into her.

"You have pancake on your face," he murmured quietly, wiping off the batter on her cheeks and nose with his thumb.

Lea's mouth opened and lowered her eyes before batting her lashes and looking back up towards Joe.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He cupped her face into his palms and gazed down at her. He ran the pad of his thumb along the rim of her ear. Joe bent down and, barely, pressed his lips against her cheek. She shivered at the sensation of his mouth on her skin and the tip of his nose brushing against her cheek. Her complexion turned rosy and her lids grew heavy from the sudden desire he instilled within her.

"Lea," he began to pull away.

"Don't."

She grabbed his wrist and opened her eyes.

She saw hunger and raw longing and layers of emotions never felt before between man and woman and- love?

"Joe?"

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, breathing against her flesh as he fingered something in his pocket.

Lea heard herself moan. She bit her tongue and turned away in shame.

"Don't turn away from me, Lea. Not now. I want to hear you. I want to know that I pleasure you."

She gulped in a mouthful of air before bringing her hand to his head, holding it against the curve of her neck. He moved a curl of hair and gave the shell of her ear a small kiss. Lea whimpered and leaned her head back helplessly. Joe carefully took the bowl of batter from her hand and set it on the counter. He maneuvered them over to the kitchen table, holding her against the rim of a chair, her back arching against it as his arm slithered across her torso. He ran his teeth along her flesh and she cried out, so afraid and yet exhilarated by this madness, his madness.

"Joe, please, what are you doing?"

He raised his head to meet her eye.

"I'm making love to you."

Before she could protest, he took out something from his pocket and held it in his palm.

Lea's breath caught.

"Oh, Joe, how could you?"

He held in his large, rough palm the necklace the two of them could not afford.

Sheepishly, he grinned and laid it in her hands, allowing her to feel it and squeal over it.

"You shouldn't have done this, Joe. Now we'll be even poorer than we were last night."

"I don't care."

"Don't be stupid. You have a future to think about, a wife-"

"I already have one picked out."

Lea's eyes flew up to meet his, her cheeks stained red.

"Wh-what?"

"I didn't have enough money to buy a ring. So I thought this would be good instead."

She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes and she turned away from him, embarrassed that he'd see her.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

He held her shoulders and turned her chin towards him.

She gave him a watery smile before wailing.

"Oh, Joe. It's just that- no one's ever been so- n-n-nice to me. No one's ever l-l-loved me and I have n-n-nothing to give you."

"Don't say that. You have a lot to give me."

"Like what? Burnt pancakes?"

He laughed and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"Even if that's all you could give me, I'd still love you."

Lea flung her arms around his neck, burying her tear stained face in his chest.

"I love you, Joe."

He patted her head, rocking them from side to side in their small kitchen.

" And I love you."

And for several moments, they stood there, embracing each other, hands shyly exploring the other's form over fabric. Eventually, he turned her around and put the necklace on her, allowing himself the luxury to feel the skin of her neck. She ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror and laughed, twirling around and feeling royal. She came back into the kitchen to serve Joe pancakes and bacon.

After the plates of bacon were empty and the syrup was gone, they held hands and stole kisses in between jokes and smiles.

And the pancakes weren't burnt.


End file.
